The Rescue

Wandered into a snowstorm last night. Would have died, but a knight on a white horse rescued me. All was deathly quiet except for the faint jingle of bells on the horse’s red-ribboned reins. The knight was decidedly unhandsome—something too ironic about the set of his mouth. His armor was too rusted to shine. But his eyes were very luminous. Blue as forget-me-nots. He took me to his house. Made me hot black tea from a brass samovar. It tasted like autumn, like home. He went to sleep early, didn’t even take off his boots. Like an actor exhausted after his own tragic death. I stayed up late, still drinking tea, watching the full moon. The snow fell in silent spirals all night. Yet the moon shone through it, burning a hole through the clouds. I thought, among other things, about my savior knight. He slept with his arms crossed. I wondered what lay beneath his armor. Crushed flower petals? A magic amulet? Secret stitches running the width of his chest? I longed to reach out and touch him. To ask him what it was like to wield a sword with a jeweled hilt. To sit astride a horse. To know good from evil and still choose good.

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